Purely Sinful
by jappy13
Summary: A glimpse into the lives of Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass, two friends whose journey through Hogwarts was somewhat overlooked in the shadows of the Boy-Who-Lived. In response to the "Seven Deadly Sins" challenge by acciohope15.
1. Pride

**In response to the "Seven Deadly Sins" Challenge set by acciohope15.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Harry Potter, Harry Potter characters, places, events, things, words, and anything else that was created by J. K. Rowling.**

* * *

**Chapter 1: Pride**

Daphne found him in the strawberry patch, at the very back of the manor's gardens. He was sitting on one of the stone walls at the edge of the garden bed, with his knees bent and his head resting in his hands.

As Daphne moved closer she could see that he was sitting rigidly, staring fixedly at a small wren digging amongst the small green plants that heralded the bounty of strawberries that would be there in the summer.

She shivered and pulled her scarf tightly around her, burrowing her chin within its furry warmth and rubbing her hands together. Although winter had been and gone the spring weather hadn't brought with it the warmth that she had hoped for - and as it was approaching dusk there was a definite chill in the air. She couldn't comprehend how Blaise could sit there on that icy rock without even the slightest show of discomfort.

Blaise, suddenly startled out of his thoughts, turned to see who was intruding on his privacy and smiled when he saw her coming towards him.

She and Blaise had been granted leave from Hogwarts for a week following the death of another of Blaise's stepfathers. She had been more than happy to have an excuse to escape. The current atmosphere at Hogwarts, where students were being petrified from some unknown threat, was cloying, and she was relieved to have a chance to escape all the whispers and glances and suspicions that the students were laying on each other. Admittedly, the majority of suspicions were aimed at Harry Potter, who she personally thought was the least likely candidate for 'Heir of Slytherin' in the school and she felt sorry for the poor boy who she had noticed on more than one occasion seeming to shrink into corners and crevices in an unconscious attempt to disappear from it all.

When Blaise had come to her one evening last week with a solemn expression and informed her that his mother was once again widowed and would she like to represent the Greengrass family whilst her parents and grandparents were in France, she jumped at the chance.

Blaise and Daphne had grown up in very similar social circles. Blaise was from the Zabini family, and she herself was from the Greengrass lineage. Both very prestigious families who could trace their ancestors back through countless generations. And Blaise and Daphne had become very close over the years.

She and Blaise, along with several other children who she now attended Hogwarts with, had all attended 'Madame Nori's School for the Noblesse' as children. Madame Nori was a petit yet severe middle-aged French lady, whose cutting glances had the ability to keep her classes of the most priviledged children in British wizarding society in line. Children who were accustomed getting their own way were soon cowed by the sharp wit of the Madame, and Daphne often amused herself daydreaming in her potions classes about the abominations that could result from the union of the Madame and Professor Snape.

Within Madame Nori's classes Daphne and her fellow pureblooded students recited their family trees, learnt the correct techniques for presenting oneself in any public situation, danced waltzes and discussed the political structure of their society.

The reason for these classes was twofold. Daphne and her fellow students learnt how to present themselves to wizarding society in a way that would reflect the honour that they learnt was inherent in their bloodlines, and furthermore they were able to form the foundations of connections between their families which would serve them much later in life when, inevitably, the Ministry of Magic and the workings of the government would be turned over to their hands.

Because of these classes Daphne had already known many of the students on arriving at Hogwarts. Most of the other pureblood families had children who attended these classes in childhood, and very few families refused to attend.

Daphne knew the Weasleys were one family that refused attendance, and she had heard Mr Weasley tell her father that their reason for boycotting the lessons was that muggles and muggleborns were not allowed entry.

Daphne thought it was rather stupid of the Weasleys not to take advantage of such opportunities to improve their family prestige. After all, the most important thing in life was family and she had been brought up knowing that in any given circumstance one must always put their family name first. Families such as the Weasleys seemed to think that by rejecting the prestigious values of the elite social circles that they were somehow above them. Daphne knew that the Weasleys, although financially poor, had a wonderful history and that if the Weasley patriach had actually any sense of the politics of society he might have conducted his behaviour quite differently, might have been a little more open to other's values, and might have been able to grace his children with a bit more to their name than simply an abnormally fertile line of redheads.

Blaise shifted in his seat on the rock and Daphne was brought back to the present. She sat down behind his back and rested her head on the back of his neck. She knew he was upset even though an outside observer would never note the white-knuckles of his clenched fist, or the tenseness she could feel in his shoulders where he was burdened with troubles well beyond his years.

His biological father had been Madame Zabini's third husband, and he had died whilst on holiday in the Egyptian pyramids. Blaise had been only five years old when it happened, and all that he and Daphne knew was that his father had been found at the bottom of one of the pyramids completely emptied of blood - simply a deflated human skin defining the thick bones within. It was sickening, and the theory was that he had been caught unawares by a curse within the pyramid.

Mrs Zabini had been at the Egyptian milk baths nearby when he was found.

Daphne knew that his father's death still haunted Blaise's dreams. This was unsurprising given the unfortunate circumstances of his death. However Daphne also knew that Blaise was also troubled by the reputation that his mother had gained. She had been married a total of seven times, with this last husband being the seventh to meet an untimely death.

Madame Zabini was tall, tanned and blonde. She was cultured, spoke several languages, and Daphne had heard through listening to her own mother's gossip circles that Madame Zabini was 'skilled' in more ways than one. She had a habit of falling 'madly in love' with very rich and wealthy men who tended to have no familial ties to speak of. The sequence of events was nearly always the same. She would meet a potential suitor, be 'swept off her feet' in love, and within several months there would be an engagement, followed by a lavish wedding and then a few years later her conquest would unfortunately meet his end.

Daphne had no idea how men could be so stupid that they kept falling for this act, or how no one seemed to realise that there must surely be some underlying factors at play.

But Blaise realised. And Daphne knew he was haunted by each of his step-father's deaths because he felt he should somehow be able to prevent his mother from getting entangled in such drama. Daphne knew he hated the reptuation that his mother was building for their name. If anyone embodied the pride that one should have in being from a pureblood family it was Blaise. He respected the ancient customs that they had learnt from Madame Nori, and he wanted the Zabini name to represent power and honour and to become, once again, one of the highest ranking families in their society.

And it was this pride that Daphne knew was cutting him so deep at the moment. After enduring yet another funeral where he was surrounded by the whispers and glances of wizarding society, no doubt speculating on who the next dupe would be to fall to the dangerous siren that was his mother, he was worn out and deeply upset by the damage her actions were causing to his name. A name that had been built up by generations.

Pride could be a wonderful thing, but wounded pride was a deep injury that took many years to heal.

Blaise had gone back to watching the wren in silence.

Daphne rested her head on his shoulder, and took his right hand in hers, ready to wait out the silence in quiet support.


	2. Envy

**Chapter 2**

**March 2001 at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry**

"They're just jealous" Blaise said, putting his arm around Daphne's shoulder where they sat on a bench outside the castle.

That morning Daphne had found out that all the girls in her year, with the exception of the Slytherin girls, were planning a sleepover party in the coming summer break.

Daphne had never been to a sleepover party. She knew it was a muggle tradition she had heard the muggleborn students in the other houses talk about, but in her world one simply did not host parties with dozens of underage girls overnight. She had certainly had friends to spend the night at her home, but never more than one or two. And it seemed like such a fun idea, with Natalie - the muggle Ravenclaw who was hosting the party - describing pillow fights and 'movies' and dancing and chocolate.

The thing that stung the most, though, was that Natalie had so pointedly excluded only the Slytherins. It wasn't Daphne's fault she was in the house of the serpent.

It was one of the things that infuriated Daphne. She hated the way everyone seemed to come to Hogwarts with some sort of innate prejudice against her house, yet had the audacity to constantly call the Slytherin's bigoted...it was so blatantly hypocritical.

When she had been placed in Slytherin's Daphne had been delighted. She was terribly excited about being in the same house as her father had been, and had been proud that the sorting hat found her ambitious...for she had always been taught that ambition was a _good _quality.

Yet it only took a few days before she realised that others might not see it that way.

It wasn't long before she had resigned herself to the glances of the other students. That look students would get in their eyes once their eyes found the Slytherin emblem on her robes.

After all, as one Gryffindor had put it, there never was a bad witch or wizard that didn't come out of the Slytherin house. Still, Hufflepuff loyalty hadn't stopped Martin Bell from cheating on Geraldine Brooking last week.

So Blaise was right, in a way. She really _was_ jealous. Jealous that she missed out because, as a Slytherin, everyone assumed she hated muggles.

She didn't understand muggles, but she certainly didn't hate them. In fact she thought that muggles were quite ingenious with the ways they worked around their disability.

Although there were some wizards that wholeheartedly supported the idea of pureblood superiority, Daphne recognised people like Hermione Granger were proof that muggleborn magic was no different.

And the people who threatened the death of magic should wizards be allowed to marry muggles, well, did she really need to point out the flaws in that logic?

That said, she unequivocally believed in maintaining the purity of bloodlines. She would never let herself marry someone below her class, and the fact was that in wizarding society muggles were not amongst the well-established families. She would most likely marry a pureblood simply because it was the pureblood families that tended to be the highest ranking.

She would marry an ordinary wizard over an unknown muggle, a pureblood wizard over an ordinary wizard, and the muggle King of England above all.

It really boiled down to simple mathematics and the laws of social hierarchy.

* * *

**June 2001: Zabini Country Estate**

Once holidays started Daphne could still feel the sting of exclusion, and despite herself she found herself envying those girls for being so automatically accepted by each other.

She had been surprised earlier by an invitation from the Zabinis to stay with them, and thought it a perfect opportunity to take her mind away from less pleasant thoughts.

Daphne arrived to the smell of roast chicken. Blaise had grown up to be very self-sufficient due to his flighty mother. One of his secret pleasures was to cook. He was quite masterful with the spellwork of the kitchen, and seemed to have an innate ability to mix flavours and textures in the dishes he created. Daphne herself couldn't do much more in the kitchen than flip pancakes, and even then her wandwork tended to result in some very interesting mid-air pancake acrobatics.

She smiled at Blaise, and removed her jacket as she looked around for his mother.

"She's meeting up with a friend" said Blaise, and Daphne could hear the imaginary quotations in his voice.

Daphne nodded and took a seat on one of the large comfortable couches in the room.

She nodded towards a pile of pillows that were heaped on the floor at the other end of the room, and looked at Blaise questioningly.

"I'll tell you later" he smiled.

Through dinner Blaise and Daphne traded the stories they had heard since school had broken up. It had been a traumatic end to the year. Cedric Diggory had been killed during the last task of the Triwizard Tournament, and a crazed Potter had returned screaming about death eaters.

It had been awful. No one really knew what had happened and that made it all the worse. Some people thought Potter might be right, that You-Know-Who really was back from the dead. Others seemed to think he and Diggory had ended up somewhere and had dueled to the death.

Daphne and Blaise, both part of pureblooded families, had heard many rumours since they left Hogwarts. And the rumours that were floating around did not bear good news for the future. There were dark whisperings of death eater activity, and quiet murmurs of someone reforming the old movements. Daphne knew her family would most likely try to stay neutral, as they had in the last war. Yet Daphne had a terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach that if the war was to happen again, that the luxury of being 'Switzerland' might not be so straightforward.

She just hoped she came out the other side unscathed.

After dinner Blaise smiled, and Daphne could see he was bubbling with excitement about something despite his stony cool facade. Only she could read Blaise so well, and where others might see only the serene and composed son of the Zabini family, Daphne could see the grin he was trying to suppress.

He led her into the family room and, with a wave of his wand and a flourish of his hands he banished a sheet that was hanging down one wall.

On the wall was an enourmous empty picture frame.

Daphne raised an eyebrow. Surely she was missing something.

Blaise grinned.

"I know you were upset about missing out on the muggle sleep thing, so I asked around the muggleborns at school about what happens...and I've got the perfect muggle sleepover planned for you tonight Miss Greengrass" he said.

Daphne laughed. Trust Blaise to think of something so completely...perfect.

"What's with the frame then?" she asked.

"Well, apparently muggles all sit around and watch moving pictures" he explained.

"They're supposed to be telling stories in pictures on their telivisters".

Daphne laughed, and Blaise pushed her over to the big couch and made her sit down. Then he grabbed a big fluffy blanket and draped it over them both before making himself comfortable in the burrows of the couch.

With another flick of his wand a photo appeared within the frame.

Daphne laughed.

On the wall was now a huge blown up version of one of her baby photos. In it she was not more than three months old, with big brown eyes and a completely bald head. The baby giggled and smiled and lifted its hands towards the camera.

"I didn't really know what story to tell, so I thought I'd just put on pictures of us growing up" he said, and Daphne noticed that he suddenly seemed quite self-conscious about the entire thing.

"I think its wonderful. Thankyou Blaise" she said, and she moved her hand to hold his, then, without giving herself time to rethink her next movement she slid across the couch to sit next to him, her hand in his and her head on his shoulder.

She couldn't help but feel like there was more taking place right now that she could understand.

Blaise stretched his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into him, and then with his other hand he flicked his wand again.

A series of baby pictures followed, of both Blaise and Daphne growing up. Daphne laughed as the pictures showed the aging of the two of them. Many of the photos captured moments both comical and adorable. She particularly liked the one where she and Blaise were playing a life-sized chess board and Blaise jumped two squares while distracting her by pointing at a kneazle, then check-mating her only three moves later.

She pinched him when he laughed next to her.

* * *

_The night was a wonderful surprise_, thought Daphne as she lay in the bed in the guest room and watched the stars on the ceiling swirling around on a background of navy blue.

And as her sleepy eyes began to get heavier and heavier, Daphne couldn't help but feel the lingering warmth of Blaise safely pressed against her side.


	3. Gluttony

**Chapter 3: Gluttony**

Daphne half-ran and half-walked down the long dungeon corridor. She was trying desperately to find somewhere she could hide in misery and disappear from the world for a while, and had thought the dungeons to be the perfect place - most students were too petrified of the thought of being discovered by Snape to wander the corridors during out-of-school hours.

_How dare he!_ she thought furiously to herself, and even more furiously she rubbed at her eyes which were stinging with unshed tears.

Less than an hour ago her boyfriend of four months, Marcus Belby, had sat her down at a window near the charms classrooms and spoken those four words that every girl dreads:

_"We need to talk"_.

He had then proceeded to use every break-up cliche Daphne had ever heard, from the line _"it's not you, it's me"_, to _"you deserve better"_ and even "_let's be friends_".

And she was furious, and hurt, and confused, and full of a thousand other emotions that she could neither name nor isolate.

Her insides were completely tattered with feelings that she didn't know how to even start to untangle.

Finally finding a door to an unlocked classroom she let herself in and sat down, putting her head on the desk in front of her and finally breaking into sobs.

* * *

She didn't know how much time had passed when he came to find her.

Blaise.

She heard the door creak open and when she glanced up she found him standing in the doorway, looking at her with sympathy.

She sniffed, still hiccuping with sobs. She knew her nose was snotty, her hair was a mess and her face would be blotchy and red after crying so hard and for so long.

And though Daphne would never be seen in such a state normally, she truly didn't mind Blaise seeing her this way. He was her closest friend, and she had supported him through his toughest times, even through his own girlfriend issues. And in return he was always there when she needed him too.

He pulled a chair over to where she was sitting, and cradled her in his arms. She buried herself in his shirt and burst into fresh sobs from wounds that were still raw.

They had had a difficult year this year. Fifth year was difficult for anyone, between studying and student rivalries, and with the awful intrusion of the Ministry through that cow of a woman, Umbridge it was without doubt her most awful school year to date.

She hated the depressing atmosphere that lingered in the hallways. She hated that the headmaster, who once seemed so untouchable, now seemed to have been beaten by a fat bigoted toad. She had never really liked Dumbledore. Anyone who had grown up in the wizarding world who had parents like hers, telling her stories of the past without bias, couldn't help but regard the wizened old man with some degree of suspicion.

She had never worked out exactly what his role had been in the war against Grindleward. And although she acknowledged that he had led the light in the war against You-Know-Who, and thankfully had seen the war ended, she had heard stories, murmurs and rumours, about the ways he approached certain situations. She had a suspicion that what Dumbledore wanted, Dumbledore got. And from what she could infer he did not mind which strings he had to pull, or which tales he had to weave, in order to get others to do what he wanted them to without realising their actions were being scripted for them.

Despite all this misery life had continued, and she had tried to make the best of it. She had attracted the attention of Marcus, a sixth year in Ravenclaw, and had been having fun learning how to use the pull off her femininity to her advantage. She loved the way that certain actions, a flick of the hair here or a small gesture there, could drive Marcus to do whatever she wanted him to.

She had to admit she liked the power it gave her.

And being in Slytherin she had been allowed to get up to a certain amount of mischief under Umbridge's nose. She knew it was unfair, but she had been using it to her advantage. She was able to sneak out past curfew to rendezvous with Marcus, stealing secret kisses behind tapestries and discovering little alcoves she never knew existed.

Once they had even found a room containing the most beautiful soft floor pillows and a fireplace. They had cuddled amongst the soft silk pillows and talked for hours about everything and nothing. That had certainly been an evening to remember, even though they hadn't been able to re-discover it again.

She wasn't naive enough to think she loved him though. She would never be so stupid as to fall in love with someone without weighing the consequences.

And Marcus, although lovely, wasn't what she wanted as a lifelong partner. Although he came from a good family, he himself seemed to lack a certain quality that she knew she needed in whoever she ended up settling with. She needed someone who understood these Slytherin qualities in her. She needed someone who knew what it was like to put family stature above all else. And she needed someone who, like her, knew how to pull the threads of wizarding society in a way that suited them.

Even so, being dumped was not a pleasant feeling.

She felt horrible. It was awful to know that she wasn't wanted - even if Marcus wasn't what _she_ wanted in her life it was mortifying to be told that _he_ didn't want _her_ either.

She breathed in the scent of Blaise, a deep oaky scent that made her think of warm fires and soft couches and hugs. It was having quite a calming effect on her, and she was finally able to slow her breathing down to a steady pace.

He gave her shoulders a squeeze, and wordlessly they both stood and he led her back to the dormitories where she silently disappeared up to her bed to lie down behind the curtains and sleep out the tears.

* * *

Two days later Daphne was feeling much better.

She had decided that if Marcus didn't want to continue dating her it was his loss. He had no idea what he was missing out on.

She had spent a good twenty-four hours mourning their relationships, dodging the sympathetic looks she was getting from the other girls in the dormitory, and trying hide from Lavender Brown who was on a gossip-collecting mission.

After that she had pulled herself together. Made herself look at herself in the mirror and reminded herself who she was, where she came from, and where she was going. Reminded herself that she was worth a thousand Marcus Belbys.

And life had settled back into its' old routine of lessons and homework.

So when one night after dinner she saw Blake beckon her to the common room entrance she shrugged and followed. He led her out of the common room, leading her by the hand through the twists and bends of the castle until finally they arrived up at the Astronomy tower.

He sat her on the window seat, still without saying a word.

With a flourish of his hands he pulled out an enormous box of gourmet chocolates from behind his back.

She grinned.

They were her favourites, and she knew that he must have pulled some strings to get them. They were sold in a tiny little muggle shop in a backwards lane in Paris, and as children on their birthdays Daphne's mother used to give them each one chocolate to savour.

Blaise grinned back.

And for the rest of the night, until the first light of dawn started to appear on the horizon, she and Blaise sat on the window of the astronomy tower devouring chocolates and trading secrets and stories.

And Daphne couldn't help but think that, without question, and despite the occasional stupidity of boys, life could sometimes be pretty perfect.


	4. Greed

If Blaise hadn't known better he would have believed Malfoy without question.

They were sitting in the Slytherin common room, Malfoy on the dark green couch by the fireplace. On the arm of the chair perched Pansy Parkinson, her pert little face turned towards Malfoy in pure adulation.

Malfoy was obviously enjoying himself. He sat casually in his makeshift throne. Around him on the other couches, and sitting on the floor by the fire, was an array of Slytherin students, all listening intently as Malfoy described his latest meeting with You-Know-Who.

Blaise seriously doubted him.

He seriously doubted that Draco Malfoy had _actually_ sat and clinked a glass of wine with the Dark Lord in a toast to Harry Potter's future demise.

And how the idiots surrounding Malfoy had been duped by the obviously fictional tale Blaise didn't know.

With Dumbledore now banished from the castle, and the incompetent Ministry claiming the position of Hogwarts Headmaster through their disgusting pig of a replacement, Umbridge, Blaise was struggling to see a silver lining to the whole sorry saga.

He wasn't sure if the other houses were aware of just how fanatical a number of Slytherin students had become about the growing power of the Dark Lord. He supposed if anyone had actually listened to the sorting hat at the beginning of each year, and had actually attempted interhouse friendships, then circumstances might not have reached this state.

But as it was, Slytherins continued to be ignored by the Hogwarts majority and this had simply resulted in the strengthening of inter-Slytherin ties, and a growing hero-worship of known dark families such as the Malfoys.

Because, as the current war was shaping up, it seemed as if it would be families like the Malfoys who would end up on top.

* * *

Blaise himself remained true to his values, namely self-preservation. He was not going to publicly announce allegiance to anyone unless he was certain he was choosing the side on which he would live.

So he listened good-naturedly to Malfoy's boasts about his growing friendship with his master, and he deferred to Malfoy's opinions whenever differences arose, because if Malfoy really was going to get the upper hand then Blaise wasn't about to put himself out of favour, even if Malfoy _was_ a total idiot.

The truth was, however, that Blaise failed to see how Malfoy could be so blind.

The Malfoys, like the Zabini's, were an old family. And their families honoured one thing, and one thing only - their status.

In the wizarding world status depended on a number of things, including money, political power, connections, and social standing. Every party, every friendship, every conversation was ultimately a means to achieving these goals. It was a way of perceiving the world that only someone who had been raised in such an environment could understand. From birth Blaise had learnt that everything that one did or said had a double meaning. There was what was said on the surface, and then there was the meaning underneath.

It made life so much more perilous, but also so much more interesting.

And in a world where war was a fingerbreadth away, it only made the game more fun.

* * *

"And now that my father has become...indisposed...I of course am invited to _all_ the most _exclusive_ events" drawled Malfoy.

Blaise rolled his eyes and continued reading his book on the Properties of Brazilian Underwater Fungi.

"And once He finally has a firm grasp of the Ministry of Magic, and that _incompetent_ fool of a Minister is taken down a notch, I of course will be allowed to have my pick of the political ministries. I was thinking I might even nominate myself for Hogwarts, as obviously having someone so close to the wider student body would be _such_ an advantage to our Lord in weeding out the unwanted and focusing on building up a greater Wizarding society than ever before."

Malfoy continued droning on and on about the ways in which he would be rewarded by the Dark Lord once he had taken power. Blaise kept glancing up at Malfoy, trying to read in his features whether Malfoy truly believed what he was saying.

Because surely anyone could see through such drivel?

If Malfoy truly thought his family was going to be granted luxuries and wealth and prestige through the rise of Voldemort then he had another thing coming.

It was a shame, really. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had always been really nice to Blaise. Overnight adventures with Draco at Malfoy manor had always been exhilarating, and Lucius would often set up elaborate obstacle courses for the boys, and even allow them to play dungeons and dragons in the Malfoy dungeons with real fire-breathing baby dragons (at least, Blaise thought they had_ seemed_ real to two seven year old boys - and Blaise had definitely had more than one shirt singed in their adventures).

The Malfoys, like the Zabini's, were present at all the social galas that were on the mandatory schedule for the influential members in their society. And Narcissa and Blaise's mother were friends who often spent weekends away in wizarding Paris shopping for clothes.

It seemed to Blaise that this desire to rise in society, the need for more money, more power, more _things_, was the underlining factor in all of this. The Dark Lord promised his followers everything. He promised them political power, he promised them fame and fortune and anything they desired. He let them think he would solve all their problems. He had a way of finding out dreams and promised them in abundance.

And the end result, thought Blaise, was that families like the Malfoys were duped into this faction of followers. They were sent to prison, made bankrupt through funding death eater activities, threatened and cajoled, and tortured by their 'master'.

And everything they had originally wished for, everything they had been promised, was thrown in their faces until dignified families like the Malfoys lost everything but their name, and found themselves licking the boots of a deranged monster.

There was no prestige in that.

And their greed for more would ultimately be their undoing.

* * *

Blaise would not let that happen to him.

He knew he needed to control his mother, but he also knew that she wouldn't have the wits to join the Dark Lord without his help, and Blaise did not intend to ever wear one of those masks.

He was his own man. He took pride in this fact, and would not let it go easily.

He would remain standing through everything that was on the horizon.

And he would not be alone.

Over the past few months he had begun to realise that. He had started to uncover feelings that he had unconsciously hidden within himself. Daphne had been his friend for as long as he could remember. They had shared their lives with each other.

She had been like the sister he never had.

Well, that was the way he had always thought about it at least. But now, over the past few months, _things_ had been happening to him when he thought of her. He had started to notice the way her blonde hair sat _just so_ on her collarbone. The way that whenever she drank her morning juice she always ended up with a millimetre or two of a juice moustache. The way that she bit her lip when she was puzzling over a homework question, and the way that she slightly bobbed her head when she had worked out the answer.

Yes, he had finally come to the realisation that maybe the feelings he held for Daphne weren't _entirely_ the brotherly type. In fact, they were _nothing_ of the brotherly sort.

And it killed him, because it meant that either he sat back and kept his distance, and watched her inevitably be stolen from him by some other boy, or he jumped in and told her his feelings and risked everything, risked their friendship, by admitting that he _didn't_ want to be alone, that he wanted _her_.

* * *

Blaise lost himself in his musings as he watched the flickering logs in the common room fireplace, Malfoy still acting the braggart to his captive audience.

He honestly wasn't sure how he was going to handle the Daphne situation, but no matter what he intended to do everything in his power to keep her friendship, and to keep their families safe.

He gave a small smile. He knew he didn't have the same greed that the Malfoys were displaying, their greed would be their undoing.

He just hoped _his_ greed wouldn't be his undoing too.


	5. Wrath

**Chapter 5**

Hermione ducked behind a lemon tree that was in the front corner of the garden and made her way behind a string of bushes alongside the fence separating her parents' house from the neighbours.

She knew it was likely just post-war paranoia. That she was probably imagining the ominous, oppressive silence she could feel encompassing the house.

But what if she _wasn't_ imagining it?

She crept up to one of the windows and peeked in, there were no lights on but she could make out a living room furniture set, and a television. There wasn't any obvious sign of a struggle - no overturned chairs or broken lampshades. But there was also no movement. She squinted and could make out a coffee cup that was sitting on the coffee table in the centre of the room. At least that meant that her parents had not gone on holiday or moved house without her. No other muggle would be able to buy this house with her muggle-repelling charms still in place, and neither of her parents, no matter who they thought they were, would ever leave a coffee cup on a table if they were packing to go on holiday.

Which meant they were still here, somewhere.

Partly relieved, and partly even more terrified, she crept around the side of the house, edging past a hose and a couple of raised flowerbeds which were lying neglectfully in the shade. She edged around the corner into the backyard, wand in hand. She knew that if she were to run into one of her parents now she would really have no excuse for being there. To either of them she would be a stranger, in their yard, holding a stick as a weapon.

And something told her no amount of explaining would make that seem reasonable.

She crept around to the back door and peeked through the glass windows to the left of the door. Again she could not see any signs to suggest anything was out of the ordinary. But the feeling that something was amiss lingered, and she knew better than to dismiss her instincts.

She quietly whispered the spell to unlock the door and tiptoed her way into the house, hoping her stealth skills she had picked up in Britain's forests had remained with her.

"Hello?" she called cautiously, still not sure if there was anyone here.

THUMP

Hermione started and looked to the doorway on her right from which a loud thump had come from. There had definitely been something moving in the next room. She bit her lip and edged her way past kitchen cupboards towards the closed wooden door. She slowly opened the door, wand drawn.

"ARRGH!" she yelled as a heavy object was suddenly thrown at her face. She stumbled backward, with her right hand casting silent protective spells and her right trying to wrestle her face free of the furry mass that enveloped it.

She backed up against a kitchen cupboard just as she managed to get a fistful of fur and launch her attacker away from her.

Crookshanks slammed into the opposite cupboard with a cross between a loud miaow and a yelp.

"Dammit Crooks!" Hermione cursed, steadying herself on the cupboard.

Of all the things she had been expecting, a half-crazed half-Kneazle was definitely not on that list.

Crookshanks had by now righted himself and set himself back into kamikaze motion headed directly for Hermione.

Hermione, having regained her bearings, caught her cat and buried her face in his fur.

"Hey Crooks" she purred into his fur, "Hey...I missed you too" she said. She was suddenly overcome with homesickness, not for her actual home back in England, but for her parents, for their warm hugs and their soft smiles.

"MUM? DAD?" She yelled, and with Crookshanks in her arms (his claws still embedded in her shirt) and her wand drawn in one hand she dashed through the house trying to find any sign of her parents.

There was nothing.

She didn't understand. They obviously lived here, she couldn't imagine anyone else would ever put up with Crookshanks as a pet. And they obviously hadn't gone to work, because there were dishes in the sink and the chair at the dining table was still drawn out.

But no one replied to her calls.

Giving Crookshanks one last cuddle she put him down.

"Come on Crooks, where are they?" she asked the cat, whose big yellow eyes stared up at here before the overlarge cat headed off with a purposeful stride. He led her out of the small lino-lined kitchen and into the room she had previously glimpsed through the window.

The sitting room had light from outside streaming into it. The carpeted floor was vacuumed clean with not a stain in sight, and Hermione would expect nothing less from her parents. The heavy leather couches were set in a ring centred around the low lying coffee table she had seen earlier. She noted again the coffee cup on the table, and when she looked closer she realised that the cup was bone dry, the insides stained with the remnants of a cup of tea and some hardened congealed masses lined the bottom and were, she supposed, the remnants of tea leaves.

That a coffee cup had been left on the table was unusual enough. That her parents had left an unwashed cup there for so long that its contents dried into clumps...she honestly could not remember either of her parents neglecting the washing up ever. It was not a good sign.

her cat sat at the trapdoor in the floor that Hermione guessed led to the cellar, and she began to get the uneasiness within her stomach once more.

With her wand hand ready she lifted up the trapdoor and was suddenly engulfed in a smell that made her gag. Suddenly terrified she began down the steps, casting a _lumos_ as she entered the dark and musty cellar. There was a small corridor at the bottom of the steps, and she followed it through, pulling her scarf up around her mouth to ward off some of the stench.

The smell was something she knew all too well having just emerged from a war. And she could feel herself begin to go into shutdown mode as her steps brought her closer to the door at the end of the stony passage.

She creaked open the wooden door and reached for a light switch.

Turning on the light she froze at the sight before her.

Pinned to the wall were her parents. They were mounted on the wall in some sort of horrific version of artwork, their arms held wide from their torsos, their bodies forming crucifixes on the cellar wall.

Around her were racks of wine, rows of dusty bottles just the way her father liked it - he said it gave character to the age of the wine.

She couldn't draw her eyes from the gruesome sight. Her mother, dress half ripped from her body, and marks that might be dried congealed blood smeared across her chest. Her father, eyes closed and his face contorted into some unnatural pose. The nails holding them up in the air, large square old-fashioned nails, with areas of rust on their edges.

Their bodies were covered in old wounds, wounds that now seemed to be writhing as Hermione watched them. She took a step closer and her stomach lurched as she realised that the moving lumps were actually mounts of maggots spilling from the body cavities. What looked like bite marks, probably rat bites, lined their lower legs. And between the bites her parents' skin, or what was left of it, was greyed and discoloured and patchy.

Hermione clutched her mouth as her breakfast remerged, and she staggered one hand against the wall as she vomited violently on the floor, gasping for air when she had emptied her stomach's revolt.

She turned to look back at her parents and found herself gagging again.

It wasn't until Crookshanks pawed her ankle that she began to regain some semblance of consciousness to her surroundings, and she hurried back along the corridor, running from her nightmare vision.

Surely this was all a dream. Surely she would wake up any moment and she would find herself under the comfortable doona of the Melbourne hotel she was staying in, or even back in England where she would wake up to Ron holding out a cup of hot chocolate to calm her nerves like he did after a particularly bad nightmare.

She stumbled up out of the stairwell, Crookshanks close behind, and slammed the trapdoor shut. She then used all her bodyweight to push the living room sofa over the trapdoor, she didn't want to see it, before collapsing onto her knees and covering her head with her arms.

But even here, with her eyes closed, the image of her parents bodies strung up and macerated was burned into the innermost aspect of her eyelids. The image was perhaps the single most horrific thing she had ever seen - and she had been through a war chasing the broken remnants of an evil madman's soul.

This just _had_ to be a nightmare, a particularly gruesome and particularly vivid nightmare to be sure, but a nightmare all the same.

There was just no way, simply no possible way that the Death Eaters could have tracked down her parents here. She had covered her tracks every step of the way. She had been so meticulous in her hiding of them. Not even Ron or Harry knew where they were in Australia, and she had kept it that way to reduce any possibility of the information getting into the wrong hands.

Even the real estate certificates had been conducted behind closed doors, under the table, with characters she would normally not associate with in her darkest nightmares, and she had done all her dealings through three of four exchanges, so that even if one of her contacts gave up some information the knowledge would only lead the pursuer to more questions.

She could feel the heavy presence of Crookshanks alongside her, and she lifted her left arm to scoop him closer, bringing him towards her face where she could snuggle her eyes into his long coat. He seemed to sense her distress, because rather than acting his usual disagreeable self he stayed still and didn't even attempt to free himself from this clingy and panic-stricken girl.

* * *

Hermione wasn't sure how long she stayed there like that, crouched on her knees on the floor curled up into herself with her face in the coat of her cat. Time seemed to have lost much of its meaning.

Crookshanks seemed to have contented himself with the return of his owner, and was quietly purring, the vibrations reverberating through Hermione's own face. It was comforting, to focus on the constant rumble, to let everything else slide away.

Because to focus on anything else at this moment would be to descend into madness.

And she stayed that way for what may have been minutes or hours, until suddenly a car revving up the street outside reminded her of where she was.

She straightened up, suddenly feeling a hundred years older as she moved her stiff back. Her feet were numb, and as she moved her legs in front of her to get the blood flowing the sickening feeling of sensation rushing into them made her cry.

At least, she would attempt to convince herself it was that which was causing the racking sobs that had started.

And again she felt paralysed, and she shifted herself to the edge of the leather couch that still lay above the trapdoor where she had pushed it. She lifted herself into the leather seat and suddenly her head fell into her hands and she could focus on nothing but her heart-wrenching sobs as she cried out with everything she contained.

She had been through dozens of funerals in the last few weeks, but although she had shed tears she could not remember a time, ever, where she cried like she did now.

It seemed for a moment as if her entire being _was_ her misery, and she choked on her own despair.

Crookshanks resumed his place by her side on the couch and continued to purr in the distance as Hermione felt herself break into pieces as she sat on the brown leather chair in the middle of her parents' sitting room in a city she didn't know and in a world she didn't want.

* * *

Time passed once again, and by the time Hermione began to calm her breathing the sky outside was beginning to dim. It was cold. Freezing. And a chill that Hermione suspected had less to do with the weather and more to do with the bone-weary emptiness that had descended on her made her shiver.

She gathered Crookshanks into her lap and lifted herself up off the couch in search of a blanket to warm herself. She wandered into a bedroom that she guessed was her parents, the bed was made up with a heavy dark blue doona and the display cushions her mother always insisted on decorating their beds with were lined up along side each other.

Hermione lifted one edge of the bed spread and slipped beneath the covers, pushing aside the decorative pillows and unmasking the plain white pillows that were for sleeping on. She buried her face in one of them, trying to breathe in any lingering scent of her mother or father, but she couldn't find anything of them in the pillow. She tried the other one, and again failed to find any lingering impression of either of her parents. She didn't mind though. This was where they had slept while she had travelled around England in a tent.

She curled up beneath the covers, smiling when she felt the weight of Crookshanks land on her lap once more. She knew her faithful feline wouldn't leave her when she was so distraught, when so much of her life had just been torn to pieces. He was a loyal companion, and she was once again grateful to whatever fates that had directed him into her life.

There was a part of her that was surprised by how calm she was.

There was a part of her that was screaming, a high pitched wail that was endless.

And then there was the part of herself that was taking over her actions and thoughts at the moment. Simply talking her through each breath, locking the screaming, wailing, desperate part of herself into a dark, far cavity in the deepest recess of her mind.

Because, for the time being at least, it was all she could do to just keep breathing.

She lay in the bed, curled up against her parents pillows and her big orange cat.

Her mind was blank except for the focused thoughts on breathing.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

Hermione closed her eyes, continuing this mantra. Comforted by its regularity, by the steadiness it gave her.

And, lying in her dead parents' bed, Hermione eventually succumbed to sleep, exhausted. Her entire life, her entire being, had just been turned inside out and upside down. She had been ripped apart, the jagged shards of her life biting her insides.

In.

Out.

In.

* * *

It was pitch black in the room when Hermione awoke in the dusty light of dawn. She rolled onto her back as she tried to place where she was.

She was in Melbourne. She had gone to her parents house...

And just like that the events of the previous day came flooding back.

She grabbed Crookshanks (who let out a fierce protest at being so abruptly woken) and sat straight up in bed and trying to get a handle on herself before she could spin out like she had the previous day.

Her parents were dead.

It was her worst nightmare, and it had become her reality.

She felt simultaneously petrified, lost, alone, and above all incredibly guilty.

How could she have let this happen to them?

She knew that they had no way to protect themselves against magical attackers. But instead she had sent them off to Australia without even the knowledge of how to defend themselves from a magical attack.

She should have found another way.

She should have moved them into Headquarters.

She should have made them live at Bill and Fleur's house.

She should have begged and pleaded with the Order to let them assign a guard to her parents' protection.

And instead she had abandoned them as she raced across the country.

..

_Her parents had died not even knowing she was alive._

..

It was this final thought, more than anything, that made Hermione collapse back onto the bed. She couldn't seem to muster the energy for the tearful anguish she had displayed yesterday. She couldn't seem to find the energy to do anything. She felt utterly spent.

She rolled over, relishing the numbness that had settled over her. She closed her eyes and restarted the counting game she had played with herself as she went to sleep the night before.

Eventually Hermione forced herself to get up to go the bathroom, and after that made her way into the kitchen and went through the comforting and repetitive motions of boiling the kettle for a cup of tea.

She decided to take things one step at a time, and methodically worked her way around the kitchen cupboards to find the cupboard with the teacups.

She wasn't hungry. She wasn't even sure if she would keep down her tea.

So she sat on the couch, still sitting on top of the trapdoor that seemed to emit the remnants of its ghastly contents into the bright living room. She sat, still enjoying the relative numbness and the peace it brought with it.

She decided she needed a plan. So she sipped her tea as she went through the things she would need to do today, detaching herself from the emotional reality and trying to focus on the logistics of her coming day.

First she needed to deal with the bodies, they were sitting down in that cellar and needed to be disposed of in some way.

She remembered a spell she had read about during the war - _agnikar_ - that cremated bodies without disturbing the surrounding environment. She had learnt it in case the need arose to dispose of fallen death eaters on their horcrux hunt.

Instead, it seemed as if it would come in use today for its true purpose.

Then she would need to gather her parents things. Thankfully magic made this a much less daunting prospect than it might otherwise have been.

And then she would need to disable the anti-muggle charms on the house, and then she could leave.

A straightfoward plan always made Hermione feel a little more stable, giving her some structure in her world. And right now this mental structure was all that was holding her up.

* * *

Hermione managed to go from room to room, shrinking and summoning all the objects into a roller-suitcase she had found in her parents' closet.

Next she packed up Crookshanks' basket and cat-toys before going to the kitchen and banishing the contents of the fridge and pantry. She had no need of any of these items, and she knew the muggle authorities would, at some stage, realise that the house had been abandoned and would reclaim it for new owners.

Finally, with the entirety of her parents lives sitting snug within the suitcase she stood at the trapdoor that she had once more uncovered by moving the couch.

She knew what she needed to do. And right now she felt like she could handle it.

But she was terrified that when she reached the cellar she would fall apart all over again, and she couldn't afford to fall apart right now. She couldn't let herself be anything but practical. She needed to embrace this numb emotionless being for as long as she lasted.

And immersing herself into that cold pool of emotionless void she opened the trapdoor and headed down the stairs once more.

This time her stomach didn't revolt at the sight awaiting her in the cellar. This time she paused for a moment to collect herself at the threshold of the room, before pulling out her wand. She wrapped her head once more in the scarf to ward off the stench, and pointed her wand at the two bodies on the wall.

_These are just their bodies. They've moved on to someplace better_ she told herself. Trying desperately to think of the bodies in front of her as simply corpses, but unable to completely separate the despairing little girl inside herself who had seen a sight that no child should need to see, the mutilated bodies of her parents.

Quickly she cast the cremating charm, and within seconds all that was left were the nails still embedded in the wall, their cargo now dissolved into dust and sprinkling onto the floor of the cellar.

Hermione pulled a small china pot out from her jacket, and waving her wand again she summoned all the dust particles to form together, and then managed to manoeuvre the formed clump into the pot.

It wasn't exactly an urn, but her mother had loved that china pot. It seemed fitting somehow.

With that task done Hermione turned back, away from the deathbed of her parents, and made her way back to the living room to collect her belongings and her cat. Together Crookshanks and Hermione locked the front door, disabled the anti-muggle charms, and started their way back down the small suburban street.

It was only once Hermione had reached the train station once more that she realised her cheeks were wet with tears.


	6. Sloth

**Hi everyone! So this is the second to last chapter, I know I've been churning them out at record speed, and it's just because I've been on a roll.**

**I really hope you're enjoying my little snippets into Blaise and Daphne's life. When I started writing this for a challenge I didn't expect to actually end up _liking_ the pair, but I must admit I've grown quite fond of them!**

**Please, please, please leave a review if you like my writing. I haven't had many reviews yet so I'm not sure if there's areas that I could improve in - any constructive criticism is welcome, as are any general comments of course!**

**I've had a lot of fun writing these, and am waiting for the inspiration for the final chapter, Lust, to come to me.**

**Enjoy**

**xoxo**

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**Chapter 6: Sloth**

Daphne turned her face towards the sun. There was really nothing better than sunbathing, she thought. To simply lie, oblivious to the world, soaking in the warming rays.

Maybe she really was a 'snake' after all.

And here in Villefranche-Sur-Mer in southern France she was enjoying her weekend away from the Hogwarts castle by doing exactly that. Lying poolside on a sunbathing recliner, a soft sea breeze floating its' way above the villa walls.

They had returned to Hogwarts to start their seventh year, only to find the war on the outside of the castle had finally found its' way inside the castle's protective arms. Snape was now the Headmaster, the Carrows roamed the halls, less than a quarter of the students remained at the castle, and the school memories that Daphne clung to in her mind were but bitter remnants of a past that was being shredded violently by the new regime.

Daphne, thankfully, had the protection of her blood within Hogwarts and had so far remained relatively unscathed.

Even so, it was impossible to completely ignore the random absences of students, the silent tears of those who were branded mudbloods, the barbed comments from their teachers, or the ever-so-slowly diminishing hope of the student body as reports arrived by owl every day bearing news of death, torture, and the newest Ministerial actions against the "filth that infests the Wizarding World".

Daphne knew, however, that her safety and that of her family was reliant on her ignorance, so she tried her hardest to remain oblivious.

She curled up by the fire reading her novels - she had developed a deep-seated love for fiction since the beginning of the war - and would disappear within their pages, trying to escape a world that she could see was tearing itself apart.

She ordered luxury items by mail, and with the other girls in Slytherin, and with a few purebloods from the other houses, she had established a 'girls club' where the group would gather in a classroom and listen to music and eat treats from the kitchen and exchange makeup tips.

She knew Blaise thought it was all rather superficial and that she was demeaning herself by engaging in such trivial pursuits, but she liked the silliness of it all. Who could be upset with a classic _Phoenix_ song on the wireless? Why couldn't she just lose herself in trivialities like which type of fur lining in the new Milan catalogue of _Witch Fashion?_ would be the biggest hit in the coming winter?

He just didn't understand.

Or maybe he understood all too well. Daphne hadn't been completely oblivious this year, she had seen the way Blaise wrote religiously in his new journal, the way that his eyes turned blank when the Carrows started telling them about the move to classify muggles as 'fauna' rather than as humans.

He just handled things differently.

One of the best parts of being a pureblood in this new order was that she had the right to escape Hogwarts on weekends. As part of the new regime the Ministry had announced that young witches and wizards at Hogwarts had been seriously deprived of a true 'pureblood education' and that they those who had families in the House of Purebloods were permitted to return home on weekends so that their parents and guardians could tutor them in the roles and responsibilities that came with their lineage.

As if they didn't already know their roles.

They were brought up in these circles, and _no one _who had reached the entry age for Hogwarts would be lacking in the core foundations of being a pureblood heir. It was the reason they were all sent to their Madame Nori lessons as children - to learn the ways of their world.

But Daphne didn't complain, because it allowed her to go to one of her family villas and relax most weekends. Last week she had floo-ed to Florence, Italy. She had wanted to catch up with some friends who lived there, and had spent a lovely weekend spending time with people who were not wholly invested in a war.

And this weekend she had felt like getting a tan, so to Villefranche-Sur-Mer she went.

A door slammed somewhere, and Daphne stretched, not bothering to look up at the disturbance. She decided it was high time she rolled over - she didn't want to have a lopsided tan when she returned.

As she settled herself once more a shadow passed over her face, and she opened one sleepy eye to see its source.

Blaise was standing, hands on hips, above her.

"Move. You're blocking my sun" she ordered him.

Blaise didn't move.

"Blaise! Don't be a prat! Go and annoy someone who _can't_ cast the Pustulising Hex wandless" she said, closing her eyes once more.

The shadow didn't move.

Finally having had enough, Daphne sat up on her towel and looked up at Blaise.

He looked furious, and she raised her eyebrows. It wasn't like him to get so reactionary.

"What?" she asked him, curious. She rarely saw him worked up into a temper, so obviously something had touched a nerve.

"My mother" he said.

"Ah" she nodded. His mother was one of the few people on the planet that could get under his skin. Daphne knew that Blaise loved his mother dearly, but that her actions both in the past and present made him want to hate her despite himself.

"What's she done now" she asked.

Blaise let out a sigh, and sat down next to Daphne. He stared fixedly ahead, jaw tight with reigned-in emotion.

"She's decided to join the Muggle Gamekeepers" he said. "Roger Fairsword invited her, and you know mother...if a single rich elite Wizard asks her to jump she just asks how high" he said.

_Until they enter marital bliss that is,_ thought Daphne silently. It was an unspoken rule between them that his mother's habit for getting married to wealthy Wizards who seemed to die soon after was a taboo subject.

The Muggle Gamekeepers were a particularly heinous group that the Ministry had established. The idea was that because muggles and mudbloods were really just animals, it would be possible to hold hunting parties to hunt them. There was a group of witches and wizards who were calling themselves 'Gamekeepers', and they would 'keep' muggles and mudbloods in the dungeons of their homes, feeding them and making them 'ripe' before, as a group, they would set them free in some woods and 'go hunting'.

It made Daphne's stomach churn in revolt.

Blaise looked absolutely horrified at the thought that his mother was joining such a group. He turned his head to look at Daphne.

"I don't _think_ she actually _wants_ to hunt, but I think she doesn't mind the part where they keep their 'pets' in the dungeon. Daph, what do I do? Pretending none of this is going on is all well and good, but that's _my_ house! If I don't do something then aren't I responsible?"

Daphne looked at Blaise for a long time after that. He was pale, the shadows beneath his eyes were extremely pronounced. It looked as if he hadn't slept last night, or even the night before perhaps. There was a hollow look in his eyes, the look of someone who has just realised that one of the stable figures in his life might be nothing like he had imagined (not that Daphne would ever call Ms Zabini a _stable_ influence).

Daphne shrugged. "What _can_ you do Blaise?" she said. "It's not like doing anything is going to help anyone, is it? Your mother probably just knows that getting herself into the Ministry elite is going to be an extra shield when the final showdown comes. We all know that this war is looking more and more like ending in _His_ favour as the days go by. No one has seen hair nor hide of Potter for months, and besides, do you really think that a seventeen year old boy is suddenly going to save them all?

Face it Blaise, the most we can do is sit back at let it all happen. Sera sera and all that." she said, waving her hands at the end to emphasise her point.

It was true, sometimes the only way to survive was to 'go with the flow' so to speak. To just accept things as they were at face value.

If she spent her life trying to follow some moral compass, she doubted she would ever get anywhere. The world was full of shades of grey, and those that seemed intent on putting everything in categories of 'dark' and 'light' tended on being the ones who got killed first.

That's not saying she thought any of the actions of this Ministry were anything but monstrous.

But she knew that, in order to preserve herself and those she loved, that she needed to lie low, to continue on as she had been. Maybe one day, when things were more settled, she could start to work on righting thing.

For the moment it was just too dangerous to contemplate such things.

"Don't you see Blaise? If we ever want to _do anything_ then for the moment we have to _do nothing_!" she said, hoping he would see reason.

"So for the time being, you just need to go along with it. And when your mum starts keeping her 'pets' you just make sure that they're looked after, well fed and healthy, and that will give them the best chance of escape when the hunt happens" she said.

Blaise looked at her, and suddenly all the anger he seemed to be holding in, all the internal turmoil he had been going through only moments previously, was suddenly swept away.

He looked at Daphne in resignation.

She was right. For the moment all they could do was go along with it all.

At least then at the end, when it was all over, there would be _some_ normal people left to get things running again.

He nodded once, and then without saying another word he got to his feet and headed back towards the villa. Daphne suspected he was going to floo home.

She leant down and picked up her ice-cool lemonade that was sitting on the ground next to her chair, and after having had a few sips she settled back into the recliner, angling her chin skyward to ensure maximum sun exposure.

Sometimes, she mused, _sometimes_ it was particularly hard doing nothing.

* * *

**A/N: I'd also like to make a special mention to AtheneDi who is, at the present time, my only reviewer. I'm glad you like it AtheneDi! Like I said before, I've really enjoyed writing it!**


	7. Lust

**Okay, here we have it folks, the final sin...Lust. Three guesses who is lusting after who! **

**But seriously, I hope you have enjoyed the story so far, I assume you have, although of course I won't know unless you review the story.**

**I've written a M rated finale which I'm tossing up on whether to put it in as a final chapter 8 or not. What do you think? The other option is just to post it as a one-shot and you'll be able to access it via my profile. Any thoughts on this conundrum are more than welcome.**

**Again, I hope you've enjoyed the story. I didn't start out expecting to fall in love with these two characters, but they sort of developed lives of their own, as I'm sure you have all experienced before. It turns out I actually really love this Slytherin pair...who would have guessed!**

* * *

**Chapter 7: Lust**

Daphne hadn't been present at the Battle. Her parents had sensed a rising unease amongst their acquaintances, and the growing number of missing students from the halls of Hogwarts had made Daphne and Astoria uneasy.

So she and her parents had reached the mutual decision to withdraw from the school. She and Astoria had packed their bags, bid their headmaster adieu, and flooed to one of the Greengrass country manors without the intention of ever returning.

Snape hadn't even raised an eyebrow.

Hogwarts was not the place it had once been.

Walking through the dilapidated ruins, however, even Daphne was shocked by the aftermath of the war. She had heard from the survivors what had happened at the grounds. The Dark Lord and his armies had invaded the grounds, he had given the Hogwarts inhabitants an ultimatum to hand over Harry Potter (who had suddenly revealed he was still alive after all those months of absence), and then...well nobody was really sure what happened next. But everybody was certain of the outcome.

Voldemort was dead.

Harry Potter had dueled Voldemort.

Harry Potter had won.

As a result huge numbers of pureblood families who had shown allegiance to the Dark Lord during the wars had fled the country. Unlike the end of the first war the families were not staying in England to see the fallout. Those families that might have pleaded immunity by imperious, or offered up names in exchange for leniency, were not so hopeful this time.

This time it really _was_ over.

This time the wizarding population had watched the Dark Lord fall. They had watched his body burn afterwards at a huge bonfire which the witches and wizards watched with torn expressions. So many people had died during the war, and even now with loved ones reunited they were not sure how the price of war had become so high.

For Daphne it was even higher than she cared to admit.

Her best friend Blaise, her childhood companion, her knight-in-shining-armour...Blaise had not returned.

She wasn't sure where he had gone to during those last months of war.

She had watched as his emotions, so tightly controlled for as long as she had known him, had begun to simmer beneath the surface of his pureblood society mask. For all their lives Blaise and Daphne had been able to smile in the face of tragedy, the smile that was so well known to all their peers. Smiles and sweet words were the weapons employed in their circles, and smiles and sweet words were what Blaise and Daphne had been nurtured with since birth.

When the war was happening Daphne and her family had stepped back, letting those who wanted to join the meat of the action participate. Daphne knew better than to step into the turmoil. She knew that if she continued to attend the galas and manor parties, continued to meet her friends over afternoon tea and at late night feasts, that eventually the war would abate and the world would return to order.

She knew that in the end there would be a winner. She hadn't known which side would come out on top, and it hadn't mattered to her really. Oh, she had a preference of course. Nobody who had a soul could watch without disgust the horrors inflicted on those unfortunate to have non-magical blood flowing through their veins. But Daphne knew better than to let her disgust and horror show on her face.

Through the war she had been to feasts where she listened to the hosts brag about their 'pets' - muggles or half-bloods who they kept in their dungeons to 'play' with. She had watched as social norms began to include serving dinner platters on the bellies of naked men caught by the death eaters. She had watched as muggle children were herded into playpens and encouraged to fight tooth and nail until the death.

It was absolutely inexcusable. There were no words in any of the languages Daphne spoke that could describe the horrifying sights she had been witness to.

And all of it she watched with a serene smile on her lips.

She knew better than to let emotions show.

Blaise had, like her, kept his feelings locked tightly beneath his chest. But as the months dragged on, and as more and more such 'parties' were held within their social circles, Daphne had watched as the strain on Blaise had taken its toll.

Only somebody who knew Blaise as well as Daphne did would have known. It was something you could only see if you were looking for it. It was in the way Blaise handled his steak knife, the way he had started to seek solitude more and more frequently in his manor's garden. It was in the particular tone that had started to creep into his voice, in the way his lips drew themselves together when a Death Eater walked into the room.

Blaise had begun to unravel. And Daphne had been powerless to stop it.

And then, one day, without warning, Blaise had disappeared.

His mother had flooed to Daphne's in panic, tears streaming down her face as she asked Daphne where he was. Daphne had been floored, she had never seen Mrs Zabini in such a state, and had been forced to admit she had no idea where her son was.

Daphne had joined his mother in her search for Blaise. Together they had constructed a tale to cover his disappearance. They told their peers that Blaise was vacationing in France, that he had become tired of the English weather. It was a plausible alibi - in societies like the one Daphne and Blaise belonged to it was a regular occurrence to holiday in Portugual just because one had grow tired of the British menu.

But the pair could find no sign of Blaise. Their subtle questions yielded no clues. His bedroom had been packed but no note or letter had been left.

Daphne was torn between hurt and fury that he hadn't even attempted to contact her.

And now, now that the war was over and the Light had won, Daphne had been hoping with every fibre of her being that Blaise would suddenly pop up out of the woodwork. He would suddenly appear one day, tell her she was an idiot for doubting him, and they would carry on like always.

But he hadn't appeared.

It was _weeks_ after the war had ended and there was still no sign of Blaise.

Daphne's stomach was in knots. She could no longer eat, she simply sat on her balcony and stared into the distance for hours on end as if suddenly he would appear on the horizon.

But he hadn't.

Her mother was worried about her. All around the country people were celebrating, hosting great balls and dances in celebration of the victory. Daphne attended those that her mother forced her to go to, she smiled and shook hands with the 'right' people.

But her heart was no longer in it.

Her heart had disappeared.

It had been a terribly bittersweet moment when she suddenly realised she had been in love with Blaise. She hadn't been doing anything in particular. In fact she had been packing her schoolbooks into a box for storage, thinking about nothing in particular.

And suddenly it hit her.

She was _in love_ with him.

Blaise.

She suddenly realised that she had been in love with him for a very long time, longer than she realised. She wondered if she had even been in love with him while she dated all those boys back at Hogwarts. It wouldn't surprise her.

What a wonderful thing, to fall in love with your best friend. Somebody that she knew completely, and that knew her both inside and out. Somebody who she could very well imagine her life with, and who would be a perfect match for her in their society. Blaise and Daphne understood each other.

And then to have that torn away before she even had the chance to realise it!

It was not fair.

And she hated the world for it.

So she sat on the balcony and stared at the horizon. She attended the dinners. But where once she had worn a mask for society that hid her inner feelings, now she wore a mask for society that hid the abyss that lay beneath. Because that's what was left inside her, a gaping chasm. When she felt brave enough to explore her feelings she usually came out feeling exhausted, it unleashed so much emotional turmoil just to bring his face to mind, and as a result she found herself getting more and more fatigued. Dark circles had started to appear beneath her eyes that she hid with glamours. Her hair, once naturally silken, had turned lank. She had surprised herself by falling back into the habit of biting her fingernails - a habit she thought she had outgrown when she was ten.

Although she had survived the war, Daphne was not sure how much longer she would continue to survive herself.

* * *

Daphne stared at the slip of paper in front of her. An owl she hadn't recognised had delivered it and then flown off before she could give it a reply.

She had opened it and almost immediately had felt her legs disappear from her. She had sat down on her bed, eyes wide in a mixture of disbelief and horror and her face drained of colour completely.

_D._

_The lagoon. 6 o'clock._

_B._

It was his handwriting. She was sure of it. It had to be, who else would sign such a message 'B'?

But even in her certainty there was an element of doubt. What if she just _wanted_ it to be his handwriting and was therefore imagining it? What if, instead, this was all some trap? The war _had_ only just ended, and although she had been considered neutral what if this was someone from either side who had decided neutrality was not good enough?

But then again, who else would know what 'the lagoon' meant?

* * *

At 6 o'clock sharp Daphne told her mother she was going out and apparated to an area close to the lake of Windermere. The Lagoon was a joke between Blaise and herself. When their families used to picnic by the shores of Lake Windermere she and Blaise used to spend the afternoon exploring. One day they came across a small pond, hidden by a cluster of thick trees. They had laughed and played around the lake, calling it their 'lagoon' while Daphne pretended to be a water nymph and Blaise pretended to shoot her with his wand.

As they grew older they used to take day trips to their 'lagoon', and they had never seen anybody else nearby. Whereas the picnic spots by the lake were always crowded, the 'lagoon' was a little piece of paradise that nobody but Blaise and Daphne knew about.

There was a little clearing, and when Daphne had gone through an artistic phase she would force Blaise to sit by the rocks by the side of the pond and pose for her for hours. Sometimes they would spy foxes and rabbits, and it was an unspoken rule that at the 'lagoon' they were not allowed to hunt any of the creatures. Blaise was fond of hunting, but he abided by Daphne's rules and kept their secret.

So Daphne appeared by the side of Lake Windermere and began to make her way to the 'lagoon', stomach clenched in a whirlwind of different emotions. She hoped desperately that it was Blaise who had sent the message, but was preparing herself to be disappointed.

As she neared the lake her heart jumped into her mouth and she almost dropped her wand in her hurry as she broke into a sprint towards the man sitting by the edge of the pond, idly skipping stones.

"BLAISE" she yelled as she rocketed towards him, almost knocking him over in her enthusiasm.

Blaise laughed and wrapped his arms around her.

"Miss me?" he said cheekily.

Daphne didn't say anything. She breathed in the scent of him, her face buried in his robes, his arms wrapped tightly around her. She was horrified to find tears springing to her eyes and she tried to subtly move her head against his chest to wipe the tears away without his knowledge.

She couldn't believe he was here, flesh and bones in front of her.

All that time...all those days that had dragged on and on in the knowledge he was dead...

Suddenly Daphne realised exactly what this meant. It meant that he had been _alive_ while she had been pining like a miserable soppy schoolgirl in her room. How pathetic of her!

She stepped back from Blaise and glared at him. Blaise raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"How. Dare. You!" she stormed, deciding that the least he could do was to act as a punching bag for her. He had made her believe he was dead, believe her life was over...he had made her believe she had failed him by realising too late what her feelings really were.

She stomped his foot, and then took a solid kick to his left shin. Blaise yelped and hopped on one leg, rubbing his shin.

"Ow! Daph! What was that for!" he said, still hopping as Daphne stepped back and admired her handiwork as she crossed her arms across her chest.

"_That's_ for leaving without telling me" she said, "_And_ for making me think you were dead all this time. _And _for leaving me to deal with your mother. _And_...well..._And _for being an absolute prat!" she finished.

Blaise had stopped his hopping and was now staring sheepishly at her. For the first time Daphne noticed how drawn he looked, how thin he had become. She took in the state of his dress - his clothes were torn in places, and he had scars along his legs and arms.

"Where _have_ you been?" she asked, suddenly realising there was a lot more to this story than she had first thought.

"_Where_ did you go? _Why_?" she asked him.

Blaise looked at her, then turned and resumed his seat on the rock he had been sitting on when Daphne arrived. He gestured for Daphne to have a seat next to him. She did, and the pair of them sat staring at the pond. The light was dimming as the sun approached the horizon, and the little clearing of their 'lagoon' was turning twilight.

Blaise took a deep breath.

"I couldn't do it, Daph" he said, his hands were in his lap and he was studying his thumbnail intensely. "I couldn't sit back and keep doing it all while they were treating people like that."

Daphne looked at the pond. She knew what he meant, she remembered the guilt that haunted her every day during the war. The guilt that she should _ do something_, and the knowledge that there was _nothing_ she could do.

"And when mother started keeping 'pets', it was the last straw" he said quietly.

Daphne cast her mind back to that day by the pool, where Blaise had stormed and raged about his mother's actions. She had tried to tell him to accept it, to do what he could behind the scenes, but ultimately to just _get on with it_. Obviously he hadn't been able to.

"And I tried, Daph. I really did. I tried to pretend it was like it always had been. I tried to go along with it all. I made sure out 'pets' were well watered and had food, and I went along to the 'hunts' and cheered on the Death Eaters, all the while hoping that those poor sods would escape. None of them did." he said, and Daphne stole a glance in his direction. He was completely focused on his thumbnail, and she could see the turmoil behind his eyes, in the crease of his forehead.

"And I just _couldn't_ Daph!" he finally exclaimed, standing up and pacing along the pondside.

"I just _couldn't_ sit by and smile and nod and let it all happen in front of my. I had to _do something_!" he said, and it was Daphne's turn to study her thumb. She suddenly felt that familiar guilt she had during the war, the guilt that told her that she, too, should be _doing_ something.

"So I left. I left and wandered the country side" he said, and Daphne raised her eyebrow at the image.

"Yeah" he smiled, "I know, how would someone like me survive in the countryside!" he said, sensing her amusement.

"I actually took refuge in some muggle villages" he explained, and Daphne nodded. Unlike many of their kind Blaise and Daphne had always enjoyed 'playing muggle' in the little county villages. Their parents would take them and they would enjoy the novelty of having no magic for a day or two. It wasn't a surprise that Blaise had been able to survive in the muggle world.

"And then I used my knowledge of all our friend's houses to help a lot of the 'pets' escape" he said. At this Daphne looked at him, startled. She had heard that some families' 'pets' had escaped, but it was startling to discover the cause. Blaise, like Daphne, had intimate knowledge of all the pureblood houses. They had spent hours as children exploring the large manors and castles that belonged to the other families. It would be easy for someone with such knowledge, and such pure blood, to enter the dungeons and help the prisoners escape.

But still, he could have been caught...or worse.

Daphne shivered, knowing that it was not the cold air that made her do so.

"And then I set them up in the little villages too" he said, taking his place by Daphne's side on the rock once more.

"Most of them have muggle relations, being half-bloods, and so they were more than happy to take on an alias and live as muggles" he told her.

Daphne thought of all the missing half-bloods and muggles that had been listed by the Ministry of Magic after the Battle of Hogwarts. Perhaps the death toll wasn't quite so high, not if some of those listed had escaped into the muggle world.

"Why didn't you tell me" she asked him softly, still hurt that he hadn't let her in on his plan.

"I thought about it" he said honestly, "I did, truly. But if I told you then either you would have forced me to take you with me, and that would have distracted us both, or else I would have been forced to leave you with knowledge that could compromise the both of us."

Daphne nodded. It made sense. Unlike her Gryffindor counterparts who seemed to be under the delusion that 'the more the merrier' applied to all situations, including warfare, Slytherins knew that the more people involved in a plan, the more chance the plan had of unravelling.

She looked at Blaise. He was now studying the opposite end of the pond, lost in thought. She moved her left hand to his, closing her eyes when his hand enclosed hers. She had known she had missed him, known she would trade her life for his, but she hadn't realised just how much a part of her he had become. Sitting there, his hand on hers, it felt as if she was suddenly, finally, whole again.

"I missed you" she said quietly.

Blaise smiled. "I missed you too."

Daphne turned her head to study his face, his eyes crinkled as he grinned at her.

"Bet you didn't miss having a duelling partner who can beat you!" he said.

"Prat" Daphne said, rolling her eyes.

She squeezed his hand softly and he squeezed hers in return.

"But seriously Blaise" she started, gathering her courage. She had honestly thought she had lost the chance to ever hold his hand again, and had thought she had lost the chance to ever tell him what she had realised in his absence. Now that she had him here she wasn't going to let him go without saying it.

"No Blaise, you don't understand" she started, "When you were gone...when I realised that you had probably died...I realised something else...I mean we've been friends forever so maybe that's why it took me so long to figure it out..." she trailed off.

She looked up at Blaise again, his face had suddenly become darker, more intense. He was staring at her with and expression she had never seen before, an expression that made her tingle inside.

She noticed that her breathing had quickened, her heart was speeding up as well. She had never felt so aware of the presence of somebody else, and simply holding hands suddenly seemed like the most intimate action imaginable.

Her breathe hitched as she watched Blaise's face inch closer towards her own, and she lifted her chin towards him. The pair of them shifted, moving closer together, his free hand circling behind her to rest on her lower back. She hesitated for a moment as their noses touched, before tilting her head to meet his lips.

She had kissed many boys before, but she had never, in all her life, experienced a kiss like this one. The warmth of his lips, the taste of him saturated her very being. His tongue and hers danced, and she couldn't help but give a slight moan at the contact. Blaise's hand pulled her closer, and she was aware of their chests touching, aware of the hand that had been holding hers releasing it and moving up to her head, brushing through her blonde hair.

She opened her eyes for a moment, watched his closed eyelids flutter as they kept kissing. Her hands moved to behind his neck, and she played with his nape with one hand, the other trailing down and tracing the contours of his neck, his chest, his hips.

Blaise shifted again, pulling Daphne half into his lap as he deepened the kiss once more. The hand behind her back shifted towards her chest and she sighed into his mouth as she felt him undo her outer robe, revealing the sundress she had been wearing underneath. His hands caressed her curves, and she followed suit.

The air around them should have chilled them, but Daphne was only aware of the heat between their bodies. With the hand she had been using to play with his hair she started to undo the buttons of his shirt, aware that if he was going to take off her outer robe then it was his turn lose his shirt. Her hand touched the bare skin of his chest, curling her fingers in the hair that marked him as a man. She had never noticed that Blaise had chest hair, but now as she ran her fingers down his chest she knew she would never forget it. Blaise gave an involuntary shiver, and suddenly Daphne found herself pulled away from him. He broke the kiss, leaning backwards and giving her a long look.

"Daph, are you sure about this? Because if you're not...then I completely understand" he said, and Daphne bit down a laugh at what a gentleman he was trying to be.

"Blaise, I told you. When I thought you were...dead..." she hesitated, unsure of how to put the words.

"When I thought you were gone, it was only then that I realised what I really felt" she said, suddenly embarrassed as she felt a blush spread its way up her neck.

Blaise smiled. "Daph, I've loved you for years." he said, and Daphne looked up at him, eyes wide. _That_ was unexpected, she thought to herself. But now, looking back, it suddenly made sense. All the times Blaise had looked out for her, had been there whenever she needed a shoulder, had gone out of his way to make sure she felt special...he really had loved her. How blind could a girl be!

Blaise was smiling again, and he lowered his face to hers once more.

* * *

**Again, please review. And if you would like me to put up my finale chapter, which is quite racy and so I'm not sure if you want it or not (what's the trend on FF nowadays as far as racy stories go?). Anyway, it is written, it just needs me to press the 'upload' button.**

**xoxo**


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